Andromache's Journey
by Alexandra3
Summary: The tale of Andromache's journey: how she came from burning Troy to end up in Epirus, where we meet her in The Aeneid. Oneshot.


Hello everyone! I am Alexandra3 and I thought that I'd pop my head over into this area and post a story I recently wrote. This was actually my final project for my Classical Epics class, and I didn't think it should go to waste sitting on my hard drive. So here it is! The (brief) story of Andromache, told from her point of view. More notes at the bottom!

**Important Note:** This story follows book canon and not movie canon: therefore Andromache does not escape the city with her child all safe and sound. This story follows the events as told by Homer and Vergil, explaining how she came from Troy to Epirus, as told in The Iliad and The Aeneid.

* * *

Troy was burning. 

I stood in the middle of the dying city, watching as everything I knew was destroyed. My home was consumed by flame, diminished to barely a pile of kindling. My family was slain as a sacrifice, now nothing more than blood on an altar. My friends were captured, claimed as prizes and taken forcibly. My enemies were before me, reducing my life to rubble and ash.

Troy, the city of my husband, once towered over the planes and struck fear into any attacker's heart. But now its impenetrable walls were breached and the vengeful Greeks were razing the city. The once bright stars and moon were now hidden, obscured by the plumes of smoke that also choked our lungs. A stiff wind blew through the streets, bringing the scent of death with it. It is a smell that will stay with me for eternity–the smell of burnt hair and charred flesh. The dying wails of Trojans will forever assault my ears. And the sight of such ruin will never leave my dreams.

I stood in the middle of fading Troy, helpless to do anything but watch. In my arms, my infant son screamed in terror. I had grabbed him from his crib when the first alarm sounded, hoping to find some means of escape. We joined the other Trojans trying to flee the city, but it was all in vain. The deceitful Greeks caught us all–none would leave blazing Troy. I knew I was doomed the moment they saw my face–they knew me. They recognized that I was the wife of slain Hector and carried his son, Astyanax, in my arms. They would not let go of such a valuable prize.

Stripped of both power and freedom, I was done for. The heat from the fires dried the tears on my face, long before they could fall to mix with the bloody sand. I tried to rock Astyanax and calm him, instinctively whispering soothing words to him. He would not quiet though, his senses ravaged by the devastation around us.

I turned my eyes from his red face when the guards around me shifted. A Greek was approaching our group, his stride confident. His blood stained armor reflected the raging fires around us, mocking me with destruction twice seen. His boots trampled the charred remains of my possessions. He had played a great part in winning this war and he knew it. My eyes grew hard as fear and anger warred within me. I stood tall, for I resolved not to quail before the presence of Neoptolemos, son of cursed Achilles that had slain my kin.

He halted before me, the scent of death about him. His eyes roamed my form, taking in the frightened child that shrank away from him. "You are Andromache?" he asked, his voice coarse and unrefined. His arrogant tone grated upon my ears and very soul.

"I am."

His eyes fell again to take in my son. "Then this is the child of Hector?"

Against my will, fear began to overtake me, fear for what he would do to my innocent son. I held him closer to my breast. "He is."

Neoptolemos nodded once. After a moment he raised his eyes and looked around, taking in the surroundings, searching for something that I did not know. His gaze rested over the edge of the battlements and he nodded again. Swiftly, he moved and tore the child from my arms.

I screamed and leapt toward him, but the guards grabbed my arms and the back of my dress. The garment ripped under my struggles, but I did not care–the monster before me held my son! I cried out in anger and struggled harder, trying with all my might to free myself and go to my child.

Neoptolemos watched me for a moment, amused. In his arms, Astyanax screamed. He beat against the armored chest with his small fists, kicked his legs, did what he could to get away from the man that held him. But he was only an infant. His small arms reached out towards me, tears streaming down his cheeks as he cried. I did all I could, but it was not enough.

Hardly deterred, Neoptolemos walked to the edge of the battlements, taking a moment to look over the side at the ground far below. He turned toward me then, well aware of my struggles and anguish. With my son firmly in his grasp he said, "Since my father killed his father, he might try to avenge the death. He also could become King of Troy. And we want no more kings of Troy." His words said, he glanced at the boy one more time before tossing him over the edge.

I screamed in horror and tore away from the guards, but was caught by Neoptolemos before I could reach the edge. I fought against him, tried to somehow save my child, but in my mind I knew Astyanax was no more. The last living memory of my husband was gone and I might as well perish with it. I cried in anguish, unable to handle the crushing despair that now took me. These vengeful Greeks had taken my very life from me. . .I had nothing left.

I was lost in my grief and unable to protest when Neoptolemos handed me off to my guards. "Take her to the ships. She is my prize from this ruined city."

The men nodded and dragged me away. I followed numbly, unable to comprehend all that was around me. I was a shade now, though I still walked in a living body. My heart was nothing more than a cacophony of pain and sorrow. I was bundled off out of my husband's city like so much dried goods. As scenes of death passed before my eyes, I realized this was to be my last memories of Troy.

As I was taken from the city, I knew I was lost.

* * *

My time after Troy is hazy at best. I was held as a common prisoner along with some other women that had been taken from the city. We were the prizes of the men onboard the ship and we knew what that entailed. There was no escape from our future, we would become the concubines to the very men that had slain our husbands. It was vile and repulsive and inevitable. 

It was war.

During the journey across the sea, we were relatively ignored. Our only interaction with the men was when they gave us food and water. Other than that, they had work to do and could not be bothered to waste time over their leader's bounty. We were kept below decks in squalid conditions, left near the animals. We were insignificant.

Those wretched times were broken occasionally by the companionship us women found in each other. We would be separated once we reached shore, but until then, we could commiserate and try to strengthen ourselves for the trials ahead. Despair called to us every waking moment. But it was cowardly to seek our own release through death. We would instead endure our fate–display courage instead of fear. We would bring honor to the men of Troy, even if their bodies lay defiled in the streets.

After many interminable days, we came to the land of Epirus. The women were swiftly unloaded from the boats and we were separated immediately, sent off to live with our respective captor. I was put into the back of a wagon along with a few other women, ready to be carted off to the city, inland. As we were taken from the beach and ships, I watched as the sea began to retreat from my sight–the path to my former life was fading and when we turned a corner in the road, it disappeared altogether.

As we journeyed to the city that was to be our home and prison, I began to think about what my fate would be. Though I despised the words, I now belonged to Neoptolemos–I was his captive, his bounty, his prize. And there was no question what those titles truly meant–I was to be his concubine.

My stomach rebelled at the thought. How was I to endure his touch when his father had slain my beloved husband? How was I expected to not anger my new captor when I felt nothing but revulsion towards him? How could I possibly show him the respect demanded of a slave and not shame the memory of Hector? It would seem that the need to survive and the need to remember my former life could not exist together. . .one would have to prevail over the other.

I shook my head vehemently. I would no more abandon the memory of Hector and Astyanax then I would willingly submit myself to Neoptolemos. No, I would continue to mourn them and honor them in my heart and soul, but my outward appearance would be one of deference to my master.

This was how I managed to endure the years I spent with the son of Achilles. Most of the day was left to me to do as I would, free from his overbearing presence. But in the night he came, and I was forced to cry to the gods for forgiveness as I lay with the man I wished to Hades. By him, I gave birth to a son, Molossus. Though I loved the boy as any mother would, I too often would remember Astyanax, lost so many years ago over the battlements of Troy. Too often I found myself wishing to find the handsome features of Hector within his youthful face, but just as quickly I would grow accustomed to seeing the hard eyes of Neoptolemos staring back at me.

Not long after I came to Epirus, I erected an empty grave in honor of Hector. I visited it as often as I could–daily if possible–and left libations. My true husband was never far from my thoughts. Though the son of Achilles thought that I had forgotten him long ago, I did nothing to arouse his suspicion.

Over the years though, and as Molossus grew, I detected that Neoptolemos's dubious affections were wavering. I quickly realized that the object of his attention was Hermione, daughter of Menelaus and Helen–the woman that had been responsible for the fated end of Troy. I knew that the young woman was betrothed to Orestes, the son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, but apparently that would not stop Neoptolemos.

Though I did not care for the wretched son of Achilles, I still worried as to what would happen to me if he should die. Molossus was his heir and would be well-taken care of, but that privilege did not necessarily extend to me. I did not fear any death brought to me by my captor's passing, but I feared being subjected to yet another tyrant.

I spoke of my concerns to Helenus, my only true ally within the land of Epirus. He was the only one of Priam's fifty sons to survive the ruin of Troy. Twin brother to fated Cassandra, he was also a seer and one of Neoptolemos's many prizes. Though we did not get a chance to speak often, we at least had a strong understanding of what the other was feeling: we both had lost our homes and lives when the Greeks came. It was his words that calmed me and inspired me to focus on the present, rather than worry over what the future may bring.

All too soon though, the future was upon us with wicked tidings. Neoptolemos's desire for Hermione had angered Orestes greatly, who then decided to bring retribution upon the son of Achilles. Helen once inspired a feud between two men and her daughter was much the same. And the result was the same in both cases as well: she always returned to the man she was originally intended for.

Neoptolemos was killed by Orestes. My feelings upon hearing of his death were mixed at best. While overjoyed that my captor was killed, I was also fearful of what would happen to me now. I dreaded being taken captive again, this time by some new warrior that deemed me worthy of only his household chores and his bed. In the end though, I could not have asked for a better solution.

Helenus was given control of Epirus and the city, meant to rule it as its king. By logic, I also belonged to him now, but he would never bear to have such a slave, especially one that he had grown so close to over the years. So instead, we were married and I became a Queen.

My life has grown easier over the years, though it is still filled with the sorrow of all that I have lost. In Helenus, I have a friend that understands. I do not love him, not as I did my husband; but I do care for him and will stand faithfully by his side. Each day I still find myself at the side of Hector's grave, crying out to the gods as I make offerings. My life has been shattered and pieced back together, only a broken reflection of what it once was. But throughout these hardships, I have grown adept at surviving whatever the fates may throw at me.

I am a woman that has been a queen and a slave, a wife and a concubine, a mother and a child. I am a woman that has seen more than many warriors and lived through more than many leaders. Yet, despite my experience and my life, will history remember me? Will my name go down through generations and perhaps inspire stories like those of the heroes of old? Perhaps. Or perhaps they will remember me as nothing more than Hector's wife, who came across great Aeneas many years later. I will be nothing more than a woman changed by destiny.

* * *

Well, there you go! I've always been rather fascinated with Andromache, so she was a perfect choice for my final project. I really enjoyed writing this, though I wish I would have had more time to work on it. Still, I've always loved in Greek Mythology and the like, and I'm actually minoring in it. Though I do love it, I have no real urge to try and write in this particular genre, so I doubt I will be over this way again. But I wanted to post this for others to enjoy if they can. I would greatly appreciate any reviews you may have--I love hearing anything you have to say! I hope you enjoyed it! - Alexandra 


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